


my eyes have been open for days now

by juliabaccari



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 19:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12614108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliabaccari/pseuds/juliabaccari
Summary: A meeting after the events of Comet, in which there is hurt and anger but also possibly, a chance for change.





	my eyes have been open for days now

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is just a quick and rough little angsty (with my usual bright spot ending) oneshot I dredged up. Be aware there's some darker themes to the things these two talk about as it is, well, after the events of Comet. More fic coming soon of a happier nature, I promise <3

When Marya walks into her sitting room, she almost thinks she’s hallucinating. It wouldn’t be out of the question. She hasn’t slept properly in days and she’s barely been eating. Her main line of sustenance has been heavy pours of rum into weak cups of tea. She feels like she’s going out of her mind.

Unfortunately, loss of mental faculty is not to blame for Hélène’s presence. Marya blinks several times, but the vision doesn’t waver. Hélène is very real.

Steeling herself, she pulls her shawl tighter around her shoulders and strides into the room as if striding into battle. She forces her expression into one of cold disdain.

“What are you doing in here? Did you bribe the maid to let you in? I’m sure I gave explicit instructions not to let any Kuragin pass this threshold again.” Marya says, scowling. She watches as Hélène lifts her head, too slowly, dark circles around her eyes that probably match the ones Marya wears under layers of makeup.

“You know me well.” She says. Her voice sounds odd. Perhaps it’s because it’s devoid of any of her usual charm or confidence. It’s like speaking to a shell of Hélène.

“Oh? And how much am I worth to you? How much did you pay to continue your little game with me?” Marya looks away from Hélène’s face. She refuses to give a name to why it makes her so uncomfortable to look in the Countess’s eyes.

“There is no price I wouldn’t have paid.” Hélène says, sounding uncharacteristically serious.

It just makes Marya angrier. Her jaw sets firmly.

“No, really, Kuragina. How much of Pierre’s money did you throw at my maid - who I now have to fire, thanks very much - in order to come here and continue to torture me, to play your ceaseless and selfish games? Now of all times, with Natasha just barely recovered?”

“It was my money, if you must know. I keep an account separate from Pierre. He’s left for the country, anyway -”

“ _How much?_ ” Her tone rises, sharp and deadly. She’s not certain why it’s so important.

“Don’t fire her. She would have been mad to refuse a thousand rubles.”

“A thousand rubles.” Marya repeats, dryly. 

“Is that quite enough? If you think that’s not enough to deserve your company, I’m happy to pay more. Any amount. I just need to talk to you -”

“What makes you think any amount of money would convince me to speak with you?”

“I suppose I thought it was worth trying.” Hélène sounds bereft. “I don’t know what else I can offer you, I have nothing of any worth -”

“You’re right. You have nothing of any worth to me, and I want nothing from you.” Marya says viciously. She wants Hélène gone, she wants to stop seeing the pain in her eyes, she wants to stop this little spark of pity in her chest from growing. “You’re a horrid, wretched women and I wish I’d heeded my own advice and stayed away from you.”

Hélène says nothing. The room is full of cold silence, crackling fury, the barest whisper of Hélène’s shaking breaths. Marya finds herself wanting to throw things, to smash every teacup in the room, perhaps even a window or two - she hates the stillness, and the silence. Especially Hélène’s - it’s unnatural, for her to just sit there, for her to show such fear and pain openly. Marya wants to force her to do something. Yell back, scream, she would even take a cold sneer or aloof laughter. Any sign that she’s - still Hélène. Marya isn’t sure why she cares. She doesn’t want to care.

She steps forward, closer to Hélène, and it seems to break the spell. Hélène stands. She’s shivering visibly.

“Stop that.” Marya says, nonsensically, her voice hardened against the urge to rise in pitch. “Stop looking like that, Kuragina, it’s - pitiful, and pathetic - I won’t stand for it, if this is more trickery and acting you can just _go_.”

“I’m sorry, Marya, I’m not acting - I’m sorry -”

“I don’t want your apologies!” Marya says, her voice exploding out of her, echoing through the room. “I don’t want your sadness, your trembling, your tears, why should any of that mean a thing to me? Who cares if you’re sorry now? If you have regrets? Don’t you think we all regret things, and there is nothing we can do, and we have to face it! Everything is already in ruins and you - I thought you - It’s too late for these things, Kuragina, why can’t you see that you’re _too late_?”

There’s a sharp inhalation. Hélène’s jaw twitches. 

Marya curses. 

She takes another step forward, and before she knows it, she has Hélène’s face between her hands. Her nails are rough against Hélène’s cheeks as she tugs her in for a kiss. It’s searing, unforgiving, furious. Marya isn’t gentle. There’s no room in whatever this is between them for tenderness anymore, all it is now is raw emotion, and Marya’s need to forget what her life has become. She slides a hand up into messy curls and takes what she needs from the kiss, performs it like an attack. Hélène is pliant beneath her. Marya moves her other hand to Hélène’s hip and pushes, forcing her backwards, guiding her until she hits a wall. She hears Hélène groan and she’s not sure whether it’s pain or pleasure; she’s not sure whether it matters, when the two feelings go so hand-in-hand in regards to her relationship with Hélène.

Her lungs start to burn and she pulls away to breathe. Her eyes skirt over Hélène’s face, the expression on it wrecked, lips swollen and stained a darker red than Hélène herself ever wears. Marya can’t bear to look at her. She dives back in, nipping at Hélène’s neck, wanting to mark and bruise. To create some sort of proof of her impact on this woman.

Her hand skirts over Hélène’s stomach, moving for the closures at the back of her dress, when suddenly Hélène is pushing her away.

“No - no, this isn’t what I came here for. We can’t.” She says hastily, breathing fast. 

Marya’s eyes flash. “Isn’t it? Isn’t this all you ever wanted from me, and what, now I’m not good enough? Exciting enough?” Angrily, she wipes the back of her hand over her own mouth, trying to rid her lips of the feeling of Hélène’s kiss. It leaves an angry red streak across her pale skin. It’s oddly satisfying. “Well, what is it you came here for, then? To amuse yourself at the state of my life, to see if I would still fall for your charms? The more fool I.”

“No.” Hélène swears vehemently. “No, I - it’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, Marya, but I -”

“Don’t speak to me as if we are familiar.” Marya cuts in. “I don’t want to hear my name on your tongue again.”

Hélène bows her head. “I came here to seek some sort of...closure. Redemption, if that’s even possible anymore. Something, before I... I wanted to see you - you’ve turned me into such a wreck, you have no idea, I’ve never let anyone under my skin like this.”

“Quite a claim.” Marya says coldly. Hélène’s eyes snap up, and they’re wet with unshed tears.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I wouldn’t lie about that, what good would it do me now?”

“I wasn’t aware you had any feelings at all.”

Hélène steps forward, hands reaching out, but Marya takes a hasty step back. She doesn’t want to be touched. She doesn’t want these feelings. She wants to go back to her life before she’d ever heard the name Kuragin.

“I swear. I feel wretched for hurting you, for hurting your goddaughter. I never thought it would go this far. I was...foolish. I was reckless.” Hélène’s lips press tightly together. “Well. Now I shall pay for it, for my mistakes, so we can all be satisfied.”

Marya’s eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m pregnant.” Hélène confesses. Her tone is hollow.

Marya does not respond. Her breath seems to seize in her lungs, just for a moment. 

“And there it is. My sins, back to haunt me, taking over the very body I live in. And everyone who might help gone.” Hélène shakes her head. “I’ve driven away anyone who ever cared for me, not that the list was very long. And now I must rid myself of this -”

“You will _not_.” Marya cuts in, sharply. “Life is sacred, Hélène, even if it came from some - affair -”

“It did not.” Hélène says. “I haven’t slept with Dolokhov in almost half a year. He moved on, you see, to my brother.” She laughs, but it’s cold, devoid of any amusement. The confession barely shocks Marya, there’s too much else to process. “And I’ve had no other lovers since...since I set my eyes on you.”

“But then - how -?”

“I know the rumors about Pierre. That he leads a sexless existence because we are so estranged, and he is too good to carry on an affair. It’s generally true, but some nights, if we’re both drunk enough -” Hélène waves a hand. “Don’t make me relive it.”

“He’s your husband.”

“And he hates me. Why should I relish in our foolish mistakes?”

“He will be overjoyed, he has always wanted children -”

“Yes, and then he can make me a prisoner in our home, a carrier for his child - he will care for me only as the vessel that gives it life, and when it is born - what then? What will become of me? I refuse to have this, this parasite -”

“It is your child too, Hélène, it is no parasite.” Marya feels concern blossom in her chest, despite herself. She remembers when Natasha was born, when she was named her godmother. She cannot bare the thought of Hélène missing out on such a feeling, of Pierre never getting to know his child. “When it is born, you will raise it-”

“I am not fit to be a mother. Surely you agree with that.” Hélène scowls. “And to think of Pierre and I attempting to raise a child together? Peacefully? It’s laughable. The child will be ruined before it even has a chance.” She shakes her head. “No, and he is away in the country besides, and I refuse to do this alone -”

“You are not alone.”

“I refuse to beg Pierre to come home. Neither of us can stand the sight of one another. My brother has fled to St. Petersburg and does not so much as write, and Fedya fast at his heels, and there - we have so easily counted the people who care for me. I am alone.”

Marya takes a deep breath. “You will stay here then, and I will take care of you.”

Hélène’s lips part in surprise. “You would -”

“It is wrong in every way to attempt to rid yourself of this child, and in doing so you will only harm yourself. Those - procedures, the medicines - they are dangerous and unsanctioned, and will kill you more often than…” She shakes her head. “No. I will ensure the pregnancy is easy on you, and if you afterwards wish to give the child up to Pierre and nannies and housemaids, than so be it.”

“If I died, you all would be better off.”

“How dare you.” Marya seethes. Her jaw clenches. “How are you assume -”

“Well, am I not right? Pierre would be free to marry again, to someone he loves, and I know who it is he loves -” Hélène glances at the door. “He very nearly asked for Natasha’s hand the other day, and I am the only thing holding him back! Wouldn’t that be such a solution for all of you? And you, you would never again have to worry about the torment I cause you or the rumors - about us -”

“I don’t care what people say about us.”

“You hate gossip.”

“Precisely, and I never listen to it. You will stay here, and that’s final.”

“You can’t -”

“You said you wanted to make this up to me? To seek redemption? This is how you start. You begin to honor life - starting with the one you are creating, and then your own.” Marya scowls. “You think your death would bring me peace? Escape is selfish, and only leaves more scars for the ones left behind.”

Hélène blinks, slowly, as if surprised. “I didn’t think -”

“A common trait with you.” Marya sighs, and reaches out, takes Hélène’s arm. She maneuvers her to the couch and sets her down, perhaps a bit gracelessly. “I am not the only person who would care if you died. Your brother would care. I think you are the only person in the world that man actually cares about.” Her nose wrinkles with distaste to even speak of Anatole. “And Pierre? Do you not think about the guilt he’d be left with, the regret of never mending his relationship with you? He loved you once, Hélène.”

“He loved the girl I pretended to be. He loved the image of me. That girl never existed.” 

“So start again. This is your chance.”

“I will never be in love with him.” Hélène says firmly, sounding utterly sincere and resigned. “I will never be in love with him, because I am in love with you, and knowing what that truly feels like…it cannot be created again. It cannot be forced. You will never leave my heart.”

Marya freezes, all still except for the heart thundering in her chest. No one has ever said such things to her. She is not sure what to think, she is not sure how she feels. Hélène has confessed this so easily - perhaps it is just another burden spilling from her like a waterfall spilling hopelessly into a river.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t - plague you with this.” Hélène’s voice is uncharacteristically small. It makes Marya’s knees feel suddenly weak, and she sits down next to Hélène on the couch, heavy.

“Since when?” Is all Marya can think to say, to ask. “How long have you -”

“Loved you? I think since the night of the ball, the stolen dance. But I only realized it that night - in your room, the first time we -”

“I see. Not very long, then.”

“Not long enough. I was already in the middle of ruining what we had before I realized how much I wanted to keep it.”

Marya purses her lips together. “We would never be able to be anything but a secret, Hélène, even before all of this happened.”

Hélène turns to her then, a furrow in her brow. “You really think that?”

“Women in relationships like that are hardly allowed in society. We’d be outcasts, stripped of our holdings. And you - already married - well. It would be even worse.”

“I don’t mean would society allow it.” Hélène says. “I mean...would we have had something? Something for society to disapprove of in the first place?”

Marya bites her lower lip. It’s not a fair question.

“Would you have wanted -?”

“Stop.” Marya says. Hélène’s mouth snaps shut. “Why ask me that? It’s impossible. Why should we torture ourselves with what could have been in some other world?”

“I don’t know. Because it might help to know I’m not alone in wishing that world existed.”

“Would it? Or would we just be stuck, never moving on -?”

“Are we moving on now? Where is it, exactly, we are going? I’ve ended up pregnant and pathetic at your doorstep, and people will talk. I know you don’t listen to the gossip but...why don’t we just live our lives freely, and do what makes us happy?”

“This makes you happy?” Marya gestures to herself, skeptical.

“It could.”

“In another world.”

“...in another world.” Hélène sighs, and Marya can’t help herself. She leans forward, takes Hélène’s face in her hands, gently this time. She draws her into a kiss, soft and simple. She feels Hélène’s hands rest lightly on her arms. It’s no resolution, they haven’t reached a peace, this is just a temporary dressing for both of their deepest wounds.

It will have to do for now. Marya is exhausted, strung out, at her breaking point. Any more fighting, any more anger, and it would crack her in two. This helps, somehow, more than any sort of angry sex or bitter argument would have. That would have just left her more hollow and disgusted with herself than before.

She pulls back gently, her fingertips pressed to Hélène’s cheek.

“So you’ll stay here?” She asks, fully aware she’s asking so much more than that. She’s asking Hélène to stay. She’s asking Hélène to live, to keep going, to trust Marya. She’s asking her to keep loving Marya, despite how terrible an idea it is. 

“Of course.” Hélène answers easily. She doesn’t hesitate. Her only sign of reticence is a hand, trembling slightly, pressed to her stomach. Her expression is tentative. “And you’ll...you’ll help me?”

Marya nods. She lets Hélène wrap her arms around Marya, pushing into her embrace like a cat, curling up in the safety Marya provides. 

She’s not sure, exactly, how they’re going to make this work. But she knows they’re going to try.


End file.
